trainwreck
by drowning in technicolor dreams
Summary: and when someone asks you to describe yourself in one word all you can think of is trainwreck. oneshot.


**DISCLAIMED.**

**Yes, there is cursing. And yes, it's weird and…weird.**

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_**And when someone asks you to describe yourself in one word all you can think of is **_**trainwreck**_**.**_

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_**princesses and fairy tales are the foundations of your dreams**_

In your mind, you're six and you paint a world of . You smile as you survey your work, feeling like that princess who met her prince _once upon a dream. _You twirlspindance and you're getting olderolderolder until you're sixteen and suddenly a prince charming is twirlingspinningdancing with you and you're laughing and he's laughing and you feel like the prettiestluckiesthappiest girl in the world.

He touches your hair and he spins you around and he smiles that smile that makes your heart stop and your body tingle.

And all too soon, his smile drops and he looks alarmed because the monster's here and it hates you and it wants you to be miserable and it's screamingscreamingscreaming and he's laughinglaughinglaughingat you because you're cryingcryingcryingand everything's tumblingtumblingtumbling down until there's nothing left and you wake up from your dream(_nightmare_) to find out that your fairytale is gone but the screams are real and you bury your head under your pillow and you wishhopebeg that they would both just _shutthefuckup. _

_**the pulsing beat and the gyrating bodies are enough to make you forget**_

Out here on the dance floor with the many inebriated teenagers, you're no one. You're just one of them; another elite private school brat who doesn't give a damn about anything that's happening around you. You don't hear anything except the deafening speakers as it blasts out some song about everybody falling down and you don't see anything except the faces of your peers in the one second that the strobe lights are allowing.

Onoffonoffonoff.

You love it here, where you're no one. It's easier to pretend that you have no worries and that you have the most fuckingamazing life in the world and that everyone else is below you. It's easier to be distracted away from the thoughts in your head that you'd wish would just fuckingstop and leave you alone. It's easier to keep the secrets inside their box and hope that no fuckingPandora opens them and lets them all out.

Onoffonoffonoff.

_**the best of friends are also the best of enemies**_

"Mass, what's wrong?" the blonde asked, a crease on her perfect brow. You realize you've been spacing out, and you compose yourself.

"Nothing, Claire. I'm fine," you say, putting the rehearsed smile on your face. You see her face brighten and her smile widen and her eyes sparkle and _he_'s hereand you don't want to see him but you _lie _and you _pretend._

"Hey, Clairebear," he says, complete with a kiss on the cheek because her best friend is here and they want to be _modest. _

"Clairebear? What are you, five?" you ask, pretending to be disgusted but you're jealousjealousjealous and you want someone(_him_) to call you by a special nickname but you know that's impossible because he's hers(everything is hers) and you know that nothing cuteadorablesweet rhymes with _Massie. _

"Be nice," she says and you almost want to slap her because she's so fuckingperfect and you're so fuckingmean and because she knows nothing about how you're so fuckingkind by letting her have _him. _

"Sorry," you say, because you're the best friend and she's the star.

She laughs and you want you put your mouth over hers so that she would shutthefuckup because you want to make her cry because you're just so fuckingmean and so fuckingjealous, but you laugh along with her because you're her best friend and she's your best friend no matter what.

You have always lovedhated your best friend because she's perfect and you're not and she's happy and you're not and she's complete and you're not.

_**your smiles are never real enough to convince yourself**_

Every day you find yourself standing in front of the mirror smiling.

You keep your door locked and your windows closed while you stand in front of that easily breakable piece of glass, smiling your ass off, smiling until your cheeks hurt.

You smile until you can't take it anymore and yet, you still smile.

You still smile, because, somehow, you still hopewishcrave that your smile would turn sincere.

_**liars are the best at playing pretend**_

You've never really been good at games. You're too competitive to make a decent opponent, and you know it. So you only play one game, the same game you've been playing since you were five.

When you were five, you were a princessfairymermaid in her majesticfantasticwonderful castle surrounded by rainbowsflowersstars in the middle of Neverland and you had poniesunicornshorses following you wherever you went. You would prance around the house with your tiara and dress and your mom was the queen and your dad was the king and your dolls were your faithful subjects.

Now, you're sixteen and you're a happy teenager with no fuckingproblems except for what to wear to that party next week that everyone's attending and you're complete and whole and fuckinghappy inside. You go everywhere with a smile on your face and your mom is not a weakbitch and your dad is not an assholebastard and your friends know every single secret you have and you've never lied to them.

You're really good at pretending.

_**you've never met your prince charming once upon a dream**_

You met him when you were seven and he moved to the house beside yours with your window directly in front of his like the houses in that music video of that country song by some blonde. But unlike that blonde's music video, you never ended up together during prom.

You talked in the streets, you stuck together during those dinners when your family went over to their place or your family went to his and your parents put on their fake smiles and pretended. You would talk to each other when there was nothing else to do and you would hang out and you just _clicked_.

You've always been scared of him.

You know that he _knows _you. He knows you more than anyone, and that terrifies you until you just want to _hiderunaway_ from his knowing gaze and his pretty eyes and just scream at him to _stoplookingatyou_ because you know that he can _seerightthroughyou_.

You've always been terrified of him because you love him—_oh, god, you love him_—so much that you've given him the power to breakruinshatter your heart.

And you hate him—_oh, god, you hate him_—for breakingruiningshattering your heart.

_**you control and destroy to keep yourself together**_

Because when you don't all you think about is your fuckingproblems and all you do is pretend(lie).

And when you control(destroy) all you think about is you and how the control(destruction) gives you _somuchpower_ and it gives you the illusion that you're _strongnotweak_.

You see the girl in front of you cry and for a splitsecond your heart softens but it's too brokenruinedshattered to stay merciful and you watch her break and you can't help the surge of power inside of you and you can't help but feel proud as you remember how everyone respected(_feared_) you and no matter how meansickcruel it sounds it's this kind of control(destruction) that makes you feel strong and powerful inside and makes you forget how _fuckingweak _you really are.

You've always known that you were _screwedup_.

_**the spotlight is your refuge**_

Being the center of attention is one thing you want because when you're not, you're positive that no one ever truly cares about you.

Not your parents—god, no. They don't care about anything. The only thing they care about is you keeping your mouth shut.

Your friends? Maybe. But you know that your friends have lives of their own and they can't be bothered by someone as insignificant as you.

That leaves no one.

But when you're the center of attention, all eyes are on you, and when you disappear, everyone will look for you and miss you and care about you.

But when the show ends and the lights are off, you sink back into the reality that you're just _no one. _

_**and when it's eleveneleven you wish for emptiness **_

Feeling empty is different from feeling numb.

When you're empty, you feel nothing. _Not a single emotion_.

When you're numb, you feel nothing, but the emotions are still there and when they come they're sharproughpainful and they cut through your already brokenruinedshattered heart and you always want to cry when they do but you don't because tears are a sign of weakness and you don't want everyone to know how weak you really are. And when an emotion breaks the numbness inside all the other emotions follow and it hurtshurtshurts inside.

You'd rather be empty and not feel anything at all.

_**and when you cry you want someone to hold you**_

But if they do you want to yell at them to just _getthehellawayfromme_!

Because no one has seen you cry. No one. Not your best friend(because she's the crybaby, not you—even if you've cried way more than her). Certainly not your parents. No. You only cry in your room and the only thing that has seen your tears is your teddy bear from when everything was happy.

So, in the middle of the night when the screams start, you lie awake and you cry.

But tonight, the screams are unbearable and you can hear the sound of a fist against flesh and you want to _screamscreamscream_ at them to just _stopstopstop_ and you're wondering why your father is such a fuckingassholebastard and why your mother is so _weakweakweak_ and _whywhywhy_, of all the things she could pass on to her daughter, _whywhywhy_, did she have to pass on the _unbearableweakness_?

When you can't take it anymore, you get up, put a jacket over your tank top and set aside your curtains and open your window, not even bothering to take extra measures to keep quiet as you climb down. They'll never hear you. They never do.

You walk the block to the playground and you sit on the swing but you only sway back and forth gently, you don't go higherhigherhigher because you know that no one will be there to catch you if you fall.

It's this notion that sets off your tears and they're fallingfallingfalling and you don't(can't) stop them and they're neverending and you're prayingprayingpraying that nobody walks by and sees you.

But, of course, a boy sits on the swing next to you, but he's facing the opposite way. You're sitting facing the playground, he's sitting facing the houses.

You don't bother to look to see who it is. You already know it's him.

And you realize that he's the first person to see you cry and _why did it have to be him? _and you wish you could turn back time and not bother to sneak out anymore so that he wouldn't see this and know how _weakweakweak_ you are.

"Wanna talk about it?" he asks, his caramel eyes focused on the lamppost in his view.

"No," you mumble. Then you ask him, "how'd you know I was gone and where I went?"

He lets out a low chuckle. "I saw you climb out. At first I was just whatever, then I couldn't take it off my mind, so I got out and looked for you," he says sheepishly, and your heart is poundingpoundingpounding hard in your chest and you don't know why.

You sniff and wipe off you tears. You're most certainly not yet done crying, but you hatehatehate it when people see anything weak coming from you.

"You know, Massie, you're not alone," he says, and you keep quiet because you desperately want to believe him but you don't want to because you don't want to give yourself any kind of false hope. "Trust me," he says, and you're going to say _yesyesyes I trust you_ but you stop yourself because you can't let yourself trust anyone because they will just end up hurting you and this is _him _you're talking about and he's already brokenruinedshattered your heart and he's off limits because he just broke up with your best friend three days ago and he's too good for you and he deserves more than just a train wreck like you and he looks so beautifulamazingastonishing in the moonlight and you want you run your hands through his hair and you've never felt this way before and you want to tell him _everysinglething _but you can't(_why can't you?_) and you can't think anymore because you're so confusedpuzzledbewildered.

"And just because you cry does not mean you're weak," he says so softly you think you heard him wrong but you're _suresuresure_ that he just said what he said and you don't know why but the tears are _fallingfallingfalling _again and you _can'tcan'tcan't_ stop them anymore and you want to _hurthurthurt_ him for breakingruiningshattering your heart and for making you cry in front of him but you don't because no matter how much you try you _fuckinglovehim_ and you can never hurt him.

And you don't know _whywhywhy_, but you're telling him everysinglething and you feel lighter with every word you say and you feel freer and your heart's not as brokenruinedshattered as before and it's poundingpoundingpounding because he just held your hand and his skin feels rough and firm and you stop speaking for a splitsecond because you're so stunnedastonisheddazed by his gesture but then you continue and his hand never leaves yours and when you finish he stands up and moves in front of you and kneels down and puts his hands on either side of your face and says, "I'm always here for you, you know that, right?" and you want to faint right then and there.

But thank god you didn't faint because if you did you would've never experienced his face moving closer to yours and stopping just _inches _from your face and it's so close you can feel his breath on your face and he says, "I've always loved you Massie. It just took me four years to realize that I was _in _love with you," and his lips are on yours and your heart is poundingpoundingpounding even harder and your body is tinglingtinglingtingling with the fireworks exploding and your hands are running through his hair and he's not stopping and you don't want him to stop but then you're head is swimming with the lack of oxygen and you both come up for air pantingpantingpanting.

"That was better than what I imagined," he says and you feel giddy inside because he's _imagined _about you and you feel so happy that you _giggle. _Then a dazzlingamazingbeautiful smile forms on his lips and your breath is caught.

"I love you too," you admit, and his smile gets biggerbrighterradiant and he's kissing you again and you're kissing him back and when you break away he tells you that it's late and you should go home but you don't want to go home so he asks you what you want to do and you stop and think.

You tell him that you want to swing higherhigherhigher because now you know that someone will catch you if you fall.

**I was so tempted to make that last scene just another dream but then I realized that all my Clique one-shots have bittersweet/sad endings so I thought, "hey, why don't I give this seriously messed up girl a happy ending?" **

**So I did. **

**Actually, I planning on her killing herself…but that's for another story.**

**Sooo…whatcha think?**

**…**

**Um…oh yeah.**

**Falling Down – Space Cowboy feat. Chelsea Korka**

**You Belong With Me – Taylor Swift**

**And no, there is no definite guy. You choose. It can be Plovert, it can be Landon, it can be Cam, it can be Derrick, it can be Josh, it can even be Kemp. But it can NOT be Todd, because that's just incest. **

**Yes, I do know that "trainwreck" is not actually one word. My spellcheck says it's "train wreck."**


End file.
